


Slapshot

by Jonaira



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Sports, Artemis of Bana-Mighdall is Done, Backstory, Blackmail, Coming of Age, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Existential Angst, Families of Choice, Financial Issues, Gen, Growing Up, Hockey Player!Jason Todd, Humor, Hurt Dick Grayson, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, It's Jason Todd's Fault, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd-centric, National Hockey League, Sarcasm, Sassy Jason Todd, Sports, Training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:09:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27122992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonaira/pseuds/Jonaira
Summary: Ice Hockey!AU"Got its own charm, doesn't it ?" Dick sidled up to him, nodding down at the brutally fast hockey match in progress below them."A violent, bloody, concussion-promising sort of charm, sure." Jason snorted, watching in fascination as someone got checked into the boards with a  thump that rattled the glass.Dick grinned sunnily and nudged him. "So a lot like you then, Little Wing."When a major falling out with Bruce threatens to undo everything he's ever worked towards, Jason leaves behind his coach, his mentor, and the challenging but ultimately familiar world of figure skating.On his own and left without many options, Jason trades the unobtrusive competence and grace of figure skating for the fast playing trash talking life of ice hockey.And if one more person makes a 'skating on thin ice' crack at his expense, he'll  introduce their backside to the business end of his stick.
Relationships: Artemis of Bana-Mighdall & Jason Todd, Bizarro (DCU) & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 18
Kudos: 41





	1. Slapshot

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Check Yourself](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19137922) by [Joverie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joverie/pseuds/Joverie), [meaninglessblah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah). 



> Written as a prequel of sorts for the excellent JayTim ice-hockey/figure skating AU, Check Yourself by meaninglessblah and Joverie.  
> Can be read by itself too, but is more fun knowing the events of Check Yourself.

**_Slapshot_ ** : _ the hardest shot one can perform in ice hockey. Breaks down into 6 stages, which when executed in one fluid motion produces a brutal power shot that pounds the puck home at 100 miles an hour or more. _

**_'Sticking'_** **it to the man ?** **_Is Jason Todd trading in his blades for a different set ?_**

_ by Vicki Vale, Gotham Gazette, Saturday, 16th February, 2013 _

Some have heard of him, some haven't. But for those in the world of figure skating, he's been an up-and-coming name for a while now, and until recently, was possibly the USA's best shot at medaling in the World Junior Figure Skating championships since his predecessor, Dick Grayson. But no more. Since last month, Jason Todd appears to have skated out from under his coach Bruce Wayne's guidance for good. Both Gotham boys, they couldn't have had more different upbringings. 

Born to what arguably counted as Gotham's figure skating nobility, and old money, Bruce Wayne was a marvel on ice and a prodigy in his own right. Achieving international fame and accolades with 2 golds in the World Junior championships, 2 golds and 1 silver in the World Singles championships, and a 2004 Olympics Men's singles gold for America, this highly decorated figure skater along with his long term partner on ice (and now off-ice, too) Selina Kyle went on to dominate the world of couples skating. Suffice to say, their trophy shelf must look like Christmas year round, although I haven't been fortunate enough to be invited into the Wayne-Kyle household myself personally to confirm this.

Post retirement, however, Bruce Wayne still remains active in the world of skating. He merely passed on the torch, setting up the prestigious Wayne Ice Academy which takes in students of all ages, across social stratas and coaches them for various levels of skill and competition on their own rink here in Gotham. 

While the academy was still in its fledgling stages, Wayne took in and turned mentor to Dick Grayson, a Junior Championships star who shone brightly until a catastrophic and premature end to what was shaping up to have been a career even more illustrious than that of his mentor in the 2012 World Championships.

But Bruce Wayne wasn't done yet. While Dick Grayson was still wowing judges with his mastery of razor sharp technical skating blended with effortless grace and a flair for drama, the WIA's charitable outreach program had quietly scouted a young Jason Todd. Who, if the story is to be believed, had been caught in the process of stealing the tires off Bruce Wayne's own car, impressing the man himself with the speed at which he attempted to flee the scene without skidding even on ice-slicked pavements. This is all hearsay of course as there was no official complaint filed, but apparently the boy's natural skill at keeping his balance and running on ice was enough to convince Wayne to give him a chance at more appropriate and legal means of channeling this skill.

Thus, first venturing onto the ice in hand-me-down skates, armed with a free beginners' membership to the WIA, Todd's raw talent on the ice quickly bought him the personal attention of Wayne himself once again, but this time with the added bonus of the young and successful Grayson as a mentor.

Having started formal figure skating training comparatively later than most of his same-aged peers, Todd nonetheless caught up with and surpassed them, gaining a reputation as an extremely powerful skater, if lacking some of the technical excellence of his predecessor. Known for his wicked triple axels and power jump combinations, it may be noted that he never mingled amongst fellow skaters at competitions and meets the way Grayson had been known to do, much preferring to keep to himself, or his own little group consisting of his coach, Grayson and Alfred Pennyworth (one of Wayne's long-standing aides).

And in the world of professional figure skating, connections are everything. Because after his sudden exit from the WIA last month after what appears at first glance to be a bitter falling out with both Wayne and Grayson, so far no offers have been made officially or accepted for that matter, although many coaches would be happy to have him on their roster.

The circumstances of his departure from Wayne's tutelage remain shrouded in mystery, with neither party being reachable for comment. However, as per an inside source, "[he] was cutting his losses before he became nothing but a could-have-been." suggesting Todd's differences with Wayne came down to unrealised execution of potential. Perhaps Todd felt that Wayne was not pushing him hard enough, his coach especially cautious after green-lighting the gruelling Quad Lutz-Triple Axel combo which caused Grayson's career ending injury and subsequent hospitalization. 

Once  _ (frost) _ bitten, tw **_ice_ ** shy ?

Maybe Wayne felt it would be too much for Todd to handle. As per this journalist's source, "[he's] always been a spirited kid, always pushed himself hard." Possibly, Wayne was worried about Todd pushing himself  _ too _ hard and cracked down on him, capping his routines and jumps to just about sufficient to qualify for Worlds, but not enough to be memorable. Maybe, Todd didn't agree with these restrictions and hence broke away when he did.

On the other hand, maybe this was Todd flying the nest before anything like Grayson's fate could befall him, although this seems unlikely from what we can surmise of Todd's character. Despite criticism within the ice skating community about his lack of finesse, Todd's most enduring quality was perhaps his utter fearlessness on the ice, his penchant for leaving spectators and judges alike with pounding hearts at the sheer  _ daring _ of his routines. We may never know, with Todd being as notoriously media shy as he is and Wayne stonewalling all attempts to get in touch for comments.

And so our questions remain- What will 16 year old Jason Todd do next ? Will he fade away into obscurity with his only claim to fame as that of Bruce Wayne's second child prodigy, or will he come back and make a mark for himself under a different coach, in singles or maybe make the switch to couples? Or, will he be quitting the ice altogether and hanging up those skates for good ?

Whispers around the rink however may throw light on a completely different path. A young man matching Todd's description was spotted at a local sports showroom, in the  _ ice hockey _ equipment section no less, trying on what appeared to be a pair of hockey skates. 

Does this mean he will be switching up his sequined comp shirts for under armour and shoulder pads ? Salchows replaced by a stick and toe-picks by the puck ?

One thing is for sure - Jason Todd has a long and hard road ahead of him, and he's treading on thin ice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many thanks to meaninglessblah, who was not only kind enough to let me play in her sandbox, but also super encouraging of my ramblings. A delight to interact with, she very patiently and meticulously answered my multiple questions about Backstory. So much backstory, jeez. This literally wouldn't exist without her.


	2. Backswing

**_Backswing_ ** _: The wind up before the shot, with the hockey stick up in the air behind the player_

Jason balled up the soggy newspaper and slammed it into the wire mesh bin nearby. Wet pulpy crap clung to his fingers, no different from the contents of the article that had been printed on it, and he shook them off violently over the trash. He hoped this wasn't a metaphor for his life or something. 

Some lady gives him the stink-eye and shuffles a couple of steps away, tugging along her kid. 

"Don't worry Karen, you ain't gonna catch whatever it is I have." He muttered under his breath. 

_Thin ice_ , Jason thought sourly. Vicki Vale was a real piece of work, but unfortunately, she wasn't totally wrong this time.

He grit his teeth and tightened the laces on his new skates. _Hockey skates._ So maybe, he hadn't the foggiest idea what he was doing with his life right now. 

**_5 weeks ago_ **

When it had come, the break with Bruce ( _and Dick_ , but he tries not to focus on that part) had been ugly and messier than either of them had cared for. But no matter how impetuous he could be, Jason had never believed in backing himself into a corner. He'd had time before to think about his options, nights spent in the hospital while he watched Dick sleep fitfully, quiet moments at the physiotherapy sessions when Dick's face would crumple when he thought nobody was looking. But Jason _had_ been looking, and as much as he hated even the thought of it, they'd both known that Dick's skating career would never be the same again, if not outright done. 

The day of Dick's accident itself, Bruce had informed Jason, ashen faced, that they'd be pulling out all of the planned quadruples in his routine. He hadn't protested at the time, thinking it was just a shock reaction on Bruce's part, that they'd discuss it later on after Dick was back on the ice and cheerfully correcting his technique. Except days become weeks and Dick doesn't set foot on the ice. He doesn't even see the inside of the rink for a good month, and even then it's on crutches.

That month was enough for Jason to understand that maybe, he should have fought Bruce then and there itself when he'd pulled the quad out of Jason's routine. Because in the month that Dick had been gone, Bruce goes on to cut more and more of his jumps, systematically stripping down his routine till it's the safest it's ever been, and the blandest thing that he could perform to get him qualified but not noticed or even winning. When before he'd never even look twice at a routine which had a difficulty value below 40 points, suddenly, a 36 average was the best that Bruce would let him do.

That's when the fights had started. And they'd gone on for the next few weeks, endlessly and exhausting. Trying to change Bruce's mind when it was made up was like trying to break down the side of a mountain with a hammer and chisel. Doable, but terrifically foolish and immensely long-winded. Jason's GOE scores had never been spectacular - but he'd more than made up for it with challenging combos, which needed time to perfect. And time wasn't a luxury Jason had. 

So one evening, he reaches for the dynamite. 

He's on the fifth element of an otherwise flawless programme when he switches his Triple axel Triple Lutz for a Triple Axel Quadrulple Lutz. His landing is not perfect, and the ankle he'd sprained a while back trying to land Dick's Quad Lutz-Triple Axel wobbles dangerously. But he's still moving, skating fluidly back onto his line and there's a savage sort of glee welling up in him. Because no matter what Bruce said, he'd landed that all the same. 

"Get off the ice, Jason, right now." Bruce's voice cracked like a whip. Jason skid to a halt, disbelief at Bruce's hostility despite his clear display of capability leaving him momentarily speechless.

"I can land a quad, Bruce. We need to work on perfecting my tougher combos, not making them mediocre!" He yelled, chest heaving and muscles trembling with the strain of his impromptu routine.

"Get off the ice, Jason. I won't repeat myself."

"For the last time Bruce, I swear if you don't greenlight this, I'm just gonna throw it in anyway." He'd been pretty sure his voice hadn't shaken.

Jason would never forget the expression on Bruce's face in that moment. Glacial didn't even begin to cover it, and Jason spent most of his days in the freezing chill of the rink.

"Then you're benched until you learn to take orders and understand the cost of your recklessness. There'll be no more competions for you until you learn to follow instructions. Clear out your locker and leave the keys at the front desk." Bruce was already striding off without a backward glance, leaving Jason out there more frozen that the ice he stood on.

The thing is, Jason had never really expected it to work. But he had thought that it would atleast get Bruce to listen to him, to agree to a compromise of sorts.

He'd never imagined actually being told to leave. Being _benched_ . Jason supposed as he numbly packed his stuff for the day, that Bruce expected him to come grovelling and apologizing. Falling in line like a good little soldier. Like _Dick_ had done, everytime Jason had brought up the issue of his increasingly soulless routine in both his and Bruce's presence, hoping Dick would take his side, would say _something_. But he never had, and now Jason was walking out of the building as if in a dream. He'd not cleared out his locker, his bag wasn't big enough for all the shit he had in there. He'd need to come back tomorrow. Maybe he'd run into Bruce. He could apologize, he say he'd was just been talking out of his ass, that the quad was maybe a bit much and they could stick with triple-triples and that no, he wasn't leaving, please take him back, he could-

An old poster on the noticeboard catches his eye. " _The Flying Grayson_ !" It proclaimed in gaudy yellow, red and green above a hilariously bad photoshop job of Dick grinning out at the viewer as he twisted mid-salchow over the ice.The ice itself wasn't that of a rink, but rather the frozen lake from Bambi. All the little woodland animals were gathered in a corner, apparently cheering Dick on.

But even on faded, still paper, there was so much movement to Dick, like any moment now he was going to spin right out of the poster and stick a perfect landing in front of Jason, taking a quick bow like _tada! Made you smile!_

Jason walked over to the notice board and pried open the protective glass front it. Dick looked joyful, so utterly in his element and so completely free as he did truly fly through the air. It was why Jason had picked this particular picture of Dick when he'd designed the stupid poster years ago. It had been before a showcase skate Dick was doing, and he'd been uncharacteristically nervous. Jason had spent an afternoon finding the best picture of Dick that he could and then photoshopping it onto the silly Disney ice background on one of the school computers.

It was loud, utterly ridiculous, and Dick had loved it from the very first moment he'd laid eyes on it. He'd even got multiple copies made, the complete dork, Jason thought fondly, and had insisted on putting them up where everyone could see _how talented you are Jay!"_

Even Bruce had cracked a huge smile and hadn't let it be taken down months after Dick's skate exhibition was a roaring success and also very much over. That silly poster had sort of become a part of this place.

Jason ran a finger over the smooth surface, tracing where he'd imagine Dick's wings to be, the way the man would move through the air. Sometimes, it was like gravity hadn't existed for Dick, only binding on other poor souls. But then as it had suddenly remembered everytime Dick had cheated it, gravity had come for him with a vengeance, slamming him down onto the ice, breaking his ankle, his arm, and concussing him for good measure too. 

And snapping his wings, stripping him of them. Dick would never fly like that again, and in the last few weeks, Bruce in his blinkered fear was making sure Jason would never fly either. 

He rips the poster from the board, corners tearing off as they remained stapled to the corkwood. Jason rolled the thing up carefully, not quite sure what he was going to do with it, but loathe to leave it behind here.

He could feel the cold numbness from before coalescing in him suddenly. It gathered, swirling together in his core and forging itself into a cold hard bar of steel. 

There was no going back now, he thought to himself as he carefully closed the glass front, a curious sense of detachment taking over him. Bruce had made his choice, and now Jason was making his. 

Because when he looked within himself, he'd known this was coming in some form or the other, hadn't he ? Good things like WIA, Dick and Bruce, a career in figure skating, they never lasted indefinitely. Not for someone like Jason Todd. He'd known subconsciously, never wanting to, never quite strong enough to face the fact that after Dick's accident, his own skating career would have to change.

He'd either be forced to to switch coaches, or to switch careers completely. 

Because while Bruce may have been a stubborn hardass, he was hands down the best in the entire country. If Jason couldn't reach his full potential under Bruce, he simply wouldn't with anyone else. And anyway, WIA was pretty much the best and only academy for figures in Gotham. He couldn't imagine his parents agreeing to move to a whole different city just for him to train, that too under somebody who wasn't as good as Bruce and Dick. Plus, even if by some miracle Willis and Catherine did agree to shift, there was the issue of school. WIA funded in totality his seat at Gotham Prep. Were he to leave and enroll in another city, there would there was no way his parents could afford that too in addition to his figure training. Ice time was fucking expensive, and he didn't even have to pay for that under Bruce.

No, Jason thought grimly, trudging through the snow. He couldn't carry on with figures if he wasn't under Bruce. 

But then again, that's what it came to didn't it ? He'd already realised this however unwillingly, subconsciously. It's why he'd started listing out options weeks back. Even if he hadn't realised it at the time, his threat of defying Bruce hadn't been as empty, as much of a bluff as he'd thought. Willis Todd wasn't winning Father of the Year anytime soon, but if there was one thing useful that he'd instilled in Jason, it was survival instincts. To cut his losses and know when to stop betting on a losing horse. Towards the end there with Bruce, things had gotten unbearable. He'd been drowning, suffocating and Jason- he had to get out.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, he thought wryly. Better take his chances with the fire though.

Unbidden, a memory dances to the front of his mind. It had been around Christmas, his first year training under Bruce. Jason had just about turned 13. The WIA was holding a charity open skate session. Selina had been leading it, coaching little kids and their parents alike, all first time skaters. Jason had been on cat sitting duty, traditional as it was to have at least one of Selina's cats oversee the proceedings at any of WIA's charitable drives. He'd picked up the furball, cradling it carefully as he skated around the rink, sticking his nose everywhere he could. The cat was so used to the general madness that thrived in the Wayne-Kyle household, that it had fallen asleep in his arms as Jason had smoothly glided past screaming, laughing children. From time to time, Selina would catch his eye and beam at him. She'd had a soft corner for Jason, always kind word for him, sometimes correcting his form and even encouraging him in his tougher jumps. 

She'd been helping a younger boy who'd fallen over. The kid seemed small for his age, 10 probably but looked more like he was 8. He'd been pulling Salchows, getting increasingly frustrated when he'd mess up the landings. Impatient to get moving again, he kicked off with his toe pick.

"Nuh uh, sweety, never get into the habit of doing that." Selina corrected him gently, coming out of nowhere and gliding a smooth circle around the kid. "What's your name ?" She asked him, finger under his chin. "Tim," he answered shyly. "Well Tim," Selina caught his eye and beckoned Jason closer, "our Jason here is an excellent skater. I'm sure he'd be happy to help you out." Tim had looked over at Jason with huge blue eyes, stupidly hopeful. Jason had began moving towards their quieter, less crowded corner of the rink, having just about reached them, when a shriek pierced the air- a kid was barreling straight towards him, looking over her shoulder, squealing in delight. 

A split second before they could collide, Jason twisted out of the way, kicking into a double axel on autopilot. The kid went tearing past him completely oblivious, and the grand total of five people who had seen his jump applauded politely. And two of those were Selina and Tim.

Jason had much more pressing concerns, like the now airborne cat who had flown out of his arms still asleep, only to land perfectly on all fours, hissing it's displeasure and utter bafflement. Mr. Tibbles skid a bit on the ice, but dug in his claws, looking around for his attacker. Selina and Tim were both staring at the thoroughly mortified Jason, Tim in open admiration and Selina hiding a smile behind her hand. Mr Tibbles had clearly had enough though, and now shot off across the ice in a ginger streak, slipping and weaving his way past the legs of the skaters as he made his break for the gate. "Go," Selina laughed, looking at Jason trying to track the cat's progress. "Make nice with him before he gets too far. I'll take care of Timmy here."

Just before he'd skated off though, he'd caught Selina telling the kid, "A cat always lands on his feet because he's relaxed, loose and limber. Tensing up will only cloud your senses."

Years later, the sound of her voice washed over him. _Yes_ , Jason thought as he'd turned into his street. He _would_ land on his feet, he'd make sure sure of it.

**_Now_ **

Jason finished lacing on his skates. _Screw you, Karen_ . He pushed off into the ice. _You'll be wishing you had what I have._


	3. Downswing

**_Downswing_ ** _: The motion of swinging the hockey stick down towards the puck_

  
  


Jason had skated competitively only for figures, but the ice had been his home turf for as long as he could remember. If a crazy, possibly injury inducing activity could be done on there, he'd probably tried it at least once already (including _curling_ that one mad afternoon with Dick).

But one didn't have to play ice hockey to know of the Jokers. Just breathing the same air was enough. It was like every Gothamite was born with the knowledge pre-programmed into their bitty baby head. One of the original six, the Gotham City Jokers had been one of the pioneering teams of the NHL. Currently ranked as one of the top NHL teams, they stood even higher in the hearts of any hockey loving Gothamite and their Nana. It was impossible to live in the city and be completely unaware of news concerning them. On the rare occasions that Cobblepot's rink, their usual stomping grounds, was unavailable, they'd use the Academy's rink. Jason had seen them running drills before he'd come in to practice a few times, even catching the third period of a practice match when he'd got in earlier than usual once.

"Got its own charm, doesn't it ?" Dick had sidled upto him, nodding down at the highspeed match in progress. 

"A violent, bloody, concussion threatening sort of charm, sure." Jason had snorted, watching in fascinatinon as someone got checked into the boards with a glass rattling thump.

Dick had grinned sunnily and nudged him. "So a lot like you then, Little Wing."

He nailed his mentor in the kidney for that one.

"Don't think I didn't see you busting out your hamstring stretches in front of Wilson over there," he poked Dick in the side, grinning slyly. Dick was, at heart, a show-off and proud. What turned it from eye-roll inducing to weirdly charming was the fact that he genuinely was that good at whatever he did. It's what made him so immensely _watchable_.

Dick, the shameless bastard just grins even wider, not even bothering to deny any such thing. "You do know that Slade Wilson is married with kids not that much younger than you, right ?"

Jason snorted. "As if that would stop you."

Dick shrugged."Not my fault if Slade appreciates a great backside."

"Exhibitionist," Jason ribbed him, not missing Dick's casual use of the defenseman's first name.

"We're figure skaters, Little Wing." he had ruffled Jason's hair, dodging the hand that tried to smack him away. "Comes with the territory."

But clearly somewhere deep in his brain, the idea of ice hockey had lodged, just waiting to sprout under the right conditions. Training with Bruce was exhausting, and most days he'd fall into bed and be asleep almost before his head hit the pillow. But some nights, instead of watching clips of gold medal skate performances like he should have been, Jason would lie awake bleary eyed, drinking in the highlights and best goals compilations of ice hockey playoffs, before forcibly clicking off his phone and punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape, feeling vaguely guilty as he drifted off uneasily.

And so when the time did come, however unannounced, it was sort of the natural path to choose- a sport still very much ice based but with the added bonus of much better pay if he managed to reach the big leagues. The very thought of the man made Jason want to throw something, but if there was one thing Bruce had drilled into his head it was to aim for the best in whatever he did. And in ice hockey, the NHL was as top shelf as it would get, short of being called up for the US Men's Olympic team.

So here he stood today.

 _Here_ being the frozen lake in Robinson Park which was quickly filling up with families and young kids making the most of the last of winter's freeze at 8 am on a Sunday morning. Jason would soon need to move back to an indoor rink for ice time, and there was no way he would go back to Bruce's rink. Which only left him Cobblepot's rink, and Willis would simply not cough up the money to pay for expensive ice time there when there was a perfectly good frozen body of water, no matter how lumpy and bumpy it may have been with the spring thaw coming in. He'd already bitched up a storm at having to shell out cash for a new pair of figure skates just 7 months ago, since Jason had outgrown his. And don't even get Jason started on the whinging he'd had to listen to before he could buy himself a pair of hockey skates. 

At least it had been pretty empty when he'd got here at 5 am, Jason sighed, deciding to call it a day as he began unlacing his skates. As usual, he made his way to the watchman's cabin on the edge of the lake, whose wall also doubled up as the unofficial notice board. 

Missing dog notice, missing kitty notice, missing wallet- jeez poor bastard, aaand _bingo_ \- There was going to be a shinny here for mites in the evening. And another four sessions through the rest of the week, for midgets and bantams. And just like that, his schedule for the next few days was planned. He'd come back after school to unobtrusively stand as far away from the gaggle of nine year olds as possible and still eavesdrop on any basic skills he could pick up without embarassing himself. And then put that into practice the next morning before he had to run to catch the bus to school. He'd only been to three so far, but for someone as green as he was the shinnys were dead useful, even if it drew some funny looks from the mothers of the younger kids, what with Jason being the only 16 year old dude in the vicinity. 

As foolish as he felt doing it, all his surreptitious listening in to older kids teaching the babies had helped - Jason no longer fell ass over teakettle when he used his hockey blades, unused to the shorter blade and lack of a toe pick.

He'd tried an experimental run up and Lutz when he'd first bought them, only to come slamming down onto the ice, sliding a good few feet and cutting his chin as a souvenir of his stupidity. 

So. 

Toe jumps were a hard no without a pick. Though maybe an edge jump like an axel... He cut off that train of thought angrily. _Figures was history_ , Jason schooled himself. It was about damn time he stopped thinking back to it and trying to live in the past, stopped clutching at any frayed threads that still connected him to Bruce.

Of course, his post-Lutz attempt header into the ice may have just been because of the gloomy darkness at Ass 'o' clock in the morning (He very consciouly ignores the little voice that tells him he was stupid and reckless and irresponsible for even trying a jump when he could barely see his feet. It sounds a lot like Bruce)

Jason was no stranger to five am training sessions. Heck, he was no stranger to _4 am_ training sessions. But training at an indoor rink with its bright lights was not limited by insignificant natural phenomena such as say, _the sun not having risen yet_. 

There's just enough artificial light to see by though, yellow pinpricks from the street lamps dotting the winding path through the park that leads to the lake. Of course, this being Gotham, Jason is more worried about getting mugged as he jogs the eerily quiet lane every morning. He's fairly sure he can outrun any potential assailants, even weighed down with his equipment bag. Most people unfortunate to be sleeping out here were druggies, runaways and homeless people, and he comforts himself with the morbid detail that they're probably already half dead with cold. Some skinny kid with empty pockets and a huge bag isn't worth the effort of mugging. Atleast he doesn't have to carry along the large unwieldy cardboard refrigerator box he'd scrounged up in an alley anymore. 

When he'd first started coming out to the park a couple of weeks back, Jason had needed something to act as the goal into which he could aim. He'd have used a pair of shoes to mark out his goalposts, but he simply couldn't risk losing his puck in a snowdrift in the dark if his shot went wild. The box had worked okay the first couple of days. After that, it had gotten soggy, stinky and had finally given up it's ghost, riddled through with more holes than a sieve once he got the hang of shooting and his shots began developing a little height and power. Jason had exactly five pucks, and on one particularly cold morning he'd had to spend a good half hour searching for one when it had punched clean through the back of the stupid box and gone on to clear the snow banks, into the tree line. In the dark.

The universe doesn't totally hate him though, because when he sits down dejectedly to take a break after his damn box dies on him, gloomily anticipating another session dumpster diving for a structure more durable than his refrigerator box, that's when he hears it. 

A high, bell-like _ping_ , like something striking metal. And then again and then again and again. He heads over to investigate, and there he sees the single most beautiful thing in his life - an honest to god goal. 

He wonders how he'd never noticed it before in the three days he'd been practicing here, but then again, the lake was pretty huge and he'd never skated over to the far side when it was brighter, having to shake ass and hustle in order to make it back in time for school.

The first day he'd come back after practice, huffing and puffing after his mile long sprint back to get the bus in time, he'd been in the house for a grand total of five minutes, only long enough to change out of his sweaty clothes and into his uniform, planning to shower at school. 

Jason had been nearly out the door, when- "Kid," Willis snuffled from where he lay on the sofa half asleep. "Nobody starts playin' hockey at sixteen and gets into the NHL. Pick something your own size." 

He's not quite sure if Willis is talking in his sleep, voicing a dreamed up conversation he might be having with Jason, or if the man was actually conscious and addressing him. Neither option was particularly reassuring. Jason tugged on his coat and slipped out before his father could lift his spirits with some more bracing, useful advice.

But anyway, it's his third day of coming onto the lake and it's taking a turn for the better because not only does he find his lost puck, but also, a big, gleaming, gorgeous goal.

And then Jason sees the person hitting the shots into the goal, and he has to reconsider his previous assessment of the goal being the most beautiful sight he's ever beheld. 

The woman slamming pucks into the net like no man's business is built like an honest to god Amazon, tall and statuesque under her bulky pads and gloves. Her hair in its long ponytail glints like burnished copper where it catches what little dim light falls on it, and Jason thinks it would be like fire in the sun. He can't make out her face clearly in the dark, although he'd bet she looks just as stunning as the rest of her figure.

The pinging that had drawn him here was from her expertly hitting the crossbar and letting the puck drop down just inside the line. The way she was putting them in, smooth and powerful told of long hours spent honing her craft. He realises he'd been staring somewhat creepily, and skated back as silently as he could. Jason decided he could come back later when she was done using the goal, not wanting to disturb her almost zen trance while hitting things with a big stick.

He quickly skated a couple of loops around his side of the lake to warm up, shivering from even the short time spent standing still as he'd watched her. From what he could tell, she hadn't been moving around much, standing in the same spot and taking her shots and Jason wondered absently how she wasn't freezing her ass off. Maybe he should ask her what brand of thermals she was using. 

Except an hour later, when the sky is much lighter Jason skates over only to find her still systematically firing shot after shot into the goal, but this time from a crazy angle off the side and into the net directly instead of hitting the biscuit off the crossbar. 

He opens his mouth to ask her if she'll be much longer, but again, feels too much like an intruder on her little bubble of focus, so Jason instead skates off to see if there might be another miracle goal that he'd missed before. As he skated past her from behind, he caught sight of a massive equipment bag on one of the benches along the lakefront. It could only be hers, since she was the only other person here other than him this early. And then he sees it, stencilled stark against the black canvas - _NWHL_ , over a logo patch, most likely of the team she played for. 

Because this lady without a doubt was a professional. With the kick of excitement at his discovery hurrying him up, Jason finished his exploratory lap of the lake (there was no second serendipitous goal, he'd have to make do with meekly asking the professional NWHL-er _holy shit_ , if she would share). But by the time he made it back, she'd finished her day's practice apparently, nowhere to be found. 

Jason happily skated over to check out the goal, but then he caught sight of his watch and had to bolt back to where he'd left his stuff if he wanted to avoid detention.

This became a regular occurrence since she was at the lake practicing every morning since that day. And every morning Jason would skate over trying to work up the courage to ask if he could maybe try taking a few shots as well, if it wasn't too much of a bother. Without fail, every damn morning, he's just as tongue tied as that first day, silenced by her single-minded ferocity for whacking things very hard. 

He can respect that. 

He just wants in on the action too.

She's angry though, Jason concludes, when she glides into his mind during his last class of the day, half asleep at his desk. Nobody could keep at scoring goals in the freezing cold of the morning that long unless they were burning up from inside. Jason wondered if that's what he'd looked like in those last few weeks skating under Bruce, fuming and indignant at being fettered _for his own good_. Maybe the only reason he recognises her fury is because he's felt it himself now.

Jason googles her that first day itself - with the NWHL just about a decade old, there were currently only nine teams he had to consider. It's a cakewalk to match the logo he'd seen on her bag to that of the teams, and within minutes he'd pulled up the current roster for the Anaheim Amazons. The first name on the link is Akila B.M, the (A) besides her name. And then there she is, the second on the alphabetized list when he clicks through the player profiles, her unmistakable flaming hair and the little (C) for captain flanking her name. Artemis Grace gazes out from the screen, her expression cool and aloof and nowhere near the face she wears on the lake in the dark, a snarl so close to breaking the surface. Except, right below the C are the words _Temporary Suspension_ too, and Jason's feels his stomach drop. She'd looked young when he'd seen her on the lake, early twenties at most, but Jason was even more surprised to find she was just a handful of years older than him at 21. Jason wonders what possibly could have warranted suspension of the NWHL's highest goal scorer of the last two consecutive seasons. 

And then he starts digging.

The next day, he makes his way to her spot on the ice, simply watching her play as he tried picking up technique from one of the best players out there. A sudden bitter stab of memory has him thinking back to when Dick would painstakingly and patiently try to impress upon a young Jason why technical perfection while executing his moves was so important, spending hours and hours tucking in Jason's hips, re-adjusting his arms, tilting an elbow just so.

Jason physically shook his head and the heavy press of memories with it, and focused back on Artemis Grace.

It becomes a thing, Jason drinking in all he can learn from just watching her (He swears up and down that he's not being a creep, no more than if he'd hunted down all the hours of footage of hers that he could find and watched that instead) 

And he's surprised by how much he picks up too, noting her tics and micro-habits, the way she holds her follow-through stance just the half second longer as she checks the lines of her body to the goal and accordingly readjusts her stance by millimetres. The way she'll always tap her stick on the ice twice as she readied herself for a particularly tricky shot. 

If only there were some way he could ask her for a couple of quick pointers. What if she could coach him, even? He chuckled at the incongruity of the idea.

And then stops laughing, because slowly, slowly, a plan is unfolding in his head. 

He needs to do more research, _right_ now.

It's 10 long days after he first sees her that Jason screws up the courage to go over and talk to her. 10 days in which he's lost (and found) his puck 4 times. He's starting to feel a bit like Liam Neeson in Taken.

"Hi?" Jason tells her cautiously, shuffling his skates. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from wringing them and looking like a pangolin.

"What d'you want, kid ?" she asked, brusque as she lined up her next shot.

"You're Artemis Grace, right ?"

She looks up at him fully for the first time. "At your service, kid." Artemis extended her arms, stick and all, and gave him a stiff little curtsey, sarcasm rolling off her in waves. Jason bristled. What a fucking delight.

"My name is Jason Todd," He tried.

"How interesting." She muttered, cutting him off and turning away before letting her stick swing, the puck punching into the net dead center. She moved to line up her next shot, only to find Jason's foot planted on the biscuit. The sheer venom in her glare made him want to back off.

Instead, Jason grit his teeth. "I said, my name is Jason Todd, and I want to play in the NHL."

Artemis was still looking at him like she wanted to hit _him_ into the net, but she merely turned away and chose another puck from the pile between them.

"Now _that's_ an original one." She said almost absently, watching the biscuit as it pinged the crossbar and dropped in past the line.

Jason waited. She turned to face him at last. "What team do you play ?" She pulled another puck toward her.

"I don't."

"Don't have a team ? Fine, what position do you favour whenever or wherever the hell it is you practice."

"I've never played ice hockey in my life."

Her shot goes wild and she curses as the puck flies out into a snowdrift far off the ice. Artemis turned to look at him properly for the first time.

"Is this being filmed ?" She asks him bluntly, craning her neck to look for any camera person who might pop out of the snow. " _Watch as leaguer crushes kid's dream of playing pro hockey!_ Or is this just a regular case of moronitis ?"

"No." Jason's fists clenched at his sides. "I'm not joking when I say I want to play hockey in the NHL. _Like I just told you_."

"And so does every other- what are you, 15? 16?- year old kid who can skate a bit and watches the highlights on ESPN."

"I can skate more than just a bit, and I don't watch the highlights on ESPN."

That made her snort. "You say you've never played hockey in your life before. So start why now ? And why the fuck would you be aiming for the NHL ? Sure the beer leagues won't cut it for you if it's the love of the game that you're playing for ?" She says _love of the game_ like one might say _pubic hair in my pudding._

"Sure _you're_ not missing a second hockey stick ? Cause I think I see it lodged up your ass," Jason snaps, and immediately wants to knock himself out cold. He had _one_ shot at this, and he'd just gone and mouthed off to her.

Except Artemis just rolls her eyes, even sounding ever so slightly amused when she says, "Like I haven't heard _that_ one before." And Jason thinks he may just have a chance if she hadn't decked his stupid ass herself already.

He apologizes for good measure.

"Kid, you just showed me you've got some version of a backbone, even if you might be lacking on the brains front. Don't go ruining the effect by saying sorry for sticking up for yourself." She readjusted her gloves, not looking at him again.

"Plus, what's hockey without the chirping," she grins at him then, and for a moment that smile is the single most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

It's gone just as fast as it came though. 

"Fine," she tells him. "You wanna play hockey in the big leagues, show me what you got." She offers him her stick.

Jason knew something like this would happen, but it still makes his heart kick up into this throat as he takes it. It's longer than the secondhand stick he's been practicing with, the blade taped unlike his.

Artemis steps to the side and waves one arm expansively towards the goal. "Do your worst kid."

Jason lines up his shot, and hits. It slides into the bottom, right in the middle. Artemis nodded. "Ok, now go for the cheese." 

At Jason's obvious befuddlement, she rolled her eyes. "The top part of the net."

He makes the shot again. 

"Not bad," she nodded, "considering I've seen nine year olds with better form than you." Jason was quickly learning that there was a fine line between her compliments and insults.

"Now, show me the best Bar Down you got."

His hands tightened on the stick and taking his hesitance for ignorance, Artemis said to him slowly, enunciating every word as if he were developmentally disabled, "It's where you hit the puck off the top bar and get it to drop inside the goal line."

Jason swallows back his retort. There was _no_ way he could make that shot, he knew it. Not with the two weeks of slapdash practice he'd gotten in on a holey cardboard box with no crossbar. Time to play to his strengths.

"Let me show you something better." He tells her, and then settles into his stance for what's going to possibly be the most important slapshot of his non-existent hockey career. Jason moved through the steps carefully, going as fast as he dared without screwing up the sequence. 

When the stick cracks down on the ice to build the flex he needed milliseconds before actually making contact with the puck, he feared the stick would snap, but of course it doesn't, and the puck flies straight and true to punch comfortably into the corner of the net. 

Jason tried to not visibly exhale in relief. He's busy thanking all his lucky stars when Artemis gives him a sharp look. "You planning on making a D-man ?"

At his confusion (and wow, wasn't this schtick getting old fast) she huffed. "Jeez, kid, at least read up the lingo. Are you interested in playing a defenseman position? Because you're certainly not built for it. They usually tend to be giants."

Jason gave up on salvaging any pride he might have had left and just asks outright what she's on about.

"That slapshot you just made, it's more of a defenceman's play. They're the only ones who would typically have the greater space and time needed for the kind of wind-up it requires. It also happens to be the best shot you've made so far. Except you," she spared him the singular most unappreciative once-over he'd even been on the receiving end of in his _life,_ "while skinny and short, are not completely without muscle. If you could get faster with your edgework, you might be able to make a decent forward."

"I'm 5'9, and I'm still growing." he muttered sullenly, handing her stick back. Willis Todd made sure to never let him forget _that_ fact.

"Well you better hope so." she raised an eyebrow at him. "Because men's hockey looks for size." Jason's pretty sure he doesn't imagine the hint of derision in her voice, the _over skill_ seemingly left unsaid. "If you're big and can play, you're immediately considered. If you can play _well,_ now that's the kind of package that gets you scouted and _drafted_."

She tugged off her gloves and started picking up the unused pucks. Jason bends down to help. "I've seen you skate in the mornings," she tells him and Jason is honestly surprised she'd noticed him at all, even if they _were_ the only two people out here at the asscrack of dawn. "You've got decent speed for a complete beginner, and those were some really smooth back crossovers you pulled, even if you weren't handling a stick and dangling the puck at the same time. So if I were to take a guess, former figure skater ?"

Jason nodded, hope blooming in his chest. This was the compliment part though...which meant...

"Can't teach an old dog new tricks though, kid. Every current player in the NHL, hell, even in the AHL were already killing it in their pee-wee matches while still in elementary school. _You'd_ just get laughed off the ice." And there it was, the bilious insult.

She began making her way off the ice, where she'd left her duffel. Jason followed, anger making him fly over the ice to swing around up in front of her and stop Artemis in her path. "Like _you're_ laughing at me now ?" He kept his voice steady.

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "Trust me kid," she sidestepped him almost dismissively and continued forwards. "I'm not laughing. And I wouldn't waste my limited time on you, even if it were to laugh. Plus, It's not nice to poke fun at lost causes." she calls over her shoulder, colder than the wind nipping his cheeks.

"Yeah, you'd know all about lost causes, now wouldn't you ?" He calls back.

"Excuse me?" She's sat herself down on the snowbank, busy unlacing her blades.

"I mean, that's pretty much what your NHL career has become right ? A lost cause."

Artemis's fingers freeze on her laces and she looks up, pinning him with a look so poisonous, he nearly takes a step back. 

Nearly. 

Jason continued, twisting the knife. "I mean there's no coming back from the sort of drug use charges you were accused of back in California, I guess. Captain of the Anaheim Amazons, fallen from _,_ heh, _grace_ and hiding out here across the country in Gotham of all places." He nonchalantly tucked his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, rocking back on his heels. "I mean sure, charges were levelled, nothing's been proven yet and you're still on probationary suspension- but the damage has been done, hasn't it ? The Amazons are favourites for the Isobel cup, right? Or should I say _were_? Because the NWHL is even stricter about doping than the NHL, and they're probably gonna want to make an example of you, considering the NWHL is still rather young and can't afford a reputation of going easy on its ladies if they're to be taken seriously, as seriously as the NHL. And however are the Amazons supposed to win that cup without their captain and highest goal scorer to lead them, hmm?"

Jason had heard of people getting slashed pretty badly, even bleeding out when encountering the wrong side of a skate in a tangle on the ice. Every little Gotham skater kid was told the story of Victor Zsasz before they even could set foot on the ice. Zsasz had a lifetime ban from the NHL after he got a little slash happy with his blades during a scuffle and nearly opened a guy's jugular. Of course, up until this moment when he looked at Artemis, Jason had never really feared _he_ might be in danger of that. 

But again, displaying a phenomenal reign over her temper Artemis just looked at him like he was shit on her shoe. "Someone's done their research I see. Maybe you'd have better luck switching career tracks to smear journalism instead, kid. You aren't telling me anything that's not already public information and old news at that. So soak up the attention, because even a currently under probation NWHL player not giving a rat's ass about your sad little life is the closest you're ever going to get to the NHL."

"Oh yeah, I'm enjoying the attention alright, and funny you should bring up journalism," he replied in the most saccharine sweet tone he could get out without gagging, "because I'm pretty sure _you_ won't like the circus that'll come to town when the Gotham media finds out about _you_ being here. Hmm, lets see," he made a show of thinking even as Artemis stiffened visibly. "Yours is just the kind of scandalous story Vicki Vale would sell her soul for, if she had one, that is. Man, the way she'd _spin_ that shit, bringing up how you've single handedly dealt a crippling blow to upcoming national women's sports leagues, how you've undermined the efforts of all your predecessors who worked so hard to set things up and be taken seriously, yadda yadda _blah_. How you've tucked tail and run out here, hiding while the storm blows over out west, not even practicing at an indoor rink for fear of being spotted by the wrong pair of eyes."

He scuffed the toe of his skate against the ice, missing the familiar drag of the toe pick. The very picture of innocence. "Would really suck if somebody were to tip her off now, wouldn't it? It'd be pretty easy to get people to tweet about seeing the great Artemis Grace at _their very own local pond, oh em geee!,_ and then for the Gotham sports media to come storming the gates and sticking mics in your face." He thinks he might have overdone it with the _oh em gee_ part. "And let's not forget to invite Deadspin to the party !"

"Would you look at that," Artemis's face has blanched nearly white as the snow. "They teaching you Gotham kids how to kickstart your professional criminals careers in highschool now ? Blackmail, really ?" Her voice doesn't shake, but it's quiet and hollow like her throat had dried out.

It's a painful barb because growing up, Jason had been called worse than that at Gotham Prep, surrounded by stuck up rich snobs who looked down on him for being a poor kid on a Wayne scholarship. Especially those who had heard about his _alleged_ stealing of Bruce's tires. But it doesn't ruffle him because he knows he's already won.

"Telling the press that an NWHL sports superstar is in town isn't blackmail of any kind, Miss Grace." He widened his eyes exaggeratedly. "It's just giving fellow fans a chance to meet their idol, even if she's slightly out of commission at the moment."

Artemis was standing up now, hands balled up tightly by her sides and nostrils flared. At nearly 6 feet tall, she could easily wipe the floor with him and then some. This time, Jason does take that step back.

But then the fight seems to go out of her, shoulders curving inwards in defeat and Jason feels like the worst sort of scum for what he's doing to her. He desperately wants to take back everything he's said, but this is literally his only chance at getting anywhere in the world of ice hockey. Plus, he tells himself a little desperately, he just needs her to _think_ he'd be as horrible a person to go and squeal on her to Vicki Vale. He'd never actually go through with it, no matter her answer. Jason keeps his fingers crossed behind his back just in case though. 

"So what do you want from me kid ? All my connections to that world are burnt for now. Everything I say or do is taboo for now. If you're hoping for me to drop your name to a scout, don't get your hopes up. I'm no good to you. Plus even if they didn't automatically pass over you by virtue of _me_ being the one to suggest your name, they'd never actually pick you without first seeing you play." she tells him dully. He almost preferred her when she was about to punch him.

"That's not what I'm asking for at all." Try as he might, Jason can't stop the hand wringing this time, even if it _does_ make him look like a pangolin. "I just need you to coach me until I get good enough to make the _highschool_ team. I've literally no idea how to go about this, but all I need is one chance. Just a pinch of a smidge of a little guidance."

Artemis blinked at him. "You want me to coach you."

" _Yes_."

"And why the hell do you think that's a good idea?"

"Because you've got the best game on the west coast in the entire NWHL. I know the style of play in women's hockey is completely different from the NHL, but hockey is hockey right ? And I've gotta start _somewhere_."

She crossed her arms. "Flattery won't get you anywhere, kid, and yeah, the gameplay _is_ completely different."

"So will you teach me ?" He asks one final time.

Artemis turned away from him, roughly hauling up her kit. "Didn't give me much say in the matter, did you ?"

Jason ignores the bitterness in her voice and the pit of guilt yawning in his gut.

She began walking away, heading over to the snow drift where her earlier stray puck had landed. Artemis dug it out and bounced it in her palm once before she turned around and hurled it at him. He's ready for it though, and Jason makes the catch.

"Here, 5 am tomorrow, and not a minute later." She called, leaving him to gleefully shove the frozen puck into his pocket with fingers tingling from being smacked by the hard rubber.

She finds him on the lake next morning at 4:30, running full tilt down the ice and practicing his cross overs at the turns. He'd been at it since half an hour now, and was panting slightly, sweat chilling his skin.

"Tell me the zones of the rink." Artemis called out to him as she dropped her bag onto a bench without any preamble.

Jason slowed as he approached her on his returning lap around, only for Artemis to bark "Keep going ! You don't stop skating until you answer everything I ask you or until you can't skate anymore."

Jason sped right up. "Offensive, Defensive and Neutral." 

"Good. Now tell me the dimensions of an NHL rink and an international rink. Quote figures."

"Aren't they all the same size ?"

"If they were, I wouldn't have wasted my time and yours asking, now would I ?" She tells him icily. "Go on, you either know it or don't."

"Ok _,_ first, you could have been testing me to see if I even knew that they were different sizes, which I _didn't_ know before but now do, and second, _why_ do I even need to know this ?" He called, now on his second passing.

"Because," he hears and then goes flying into a snowdrift as something powerful slams into him from behind, landing hard even though he manages to fall correctly at the last moment.

Jason lay winded on the ice, gasping and shaking the powdery snow out of his hair. Artemis continued her statement as she skated back to him, offering a hand up," _that_ was what we call a check. And the size of the rink will determine how much more likely it is that it'll happen to you."

She glanced him over for any injuries and then gestured for him to resume his skate, this time with her keeping pace besides him "An NHL and AHL rink is smaller than an international rink, 200ft by 85 ft. Meanwhile, an Olympic rink is larger, about fifteen feet wider although the length remains the same. This means that the play is tighter in the NHL, there's going to be more jostling for space and less reaction time. And you're gonna get checked," she shoves him again but this time he's ready for it and manages to keep his balance, "a whole lot more."

"Good," she nodded. "Now, let's review what you did with your feet there. Hockey skates are built less for stability than figure skates. You need to be able to accelerate, decelerate and turn faster than the blink of an eye, all without letting your edgework suffer. Remember, good form equals less injury long-term, and for fuck's sake kid," she lightly tapped his ankle with the tip of her stick,"never give anyone the chance to call you a _bender_. It's going to take you sometime to relearn how to move on the ice, but you're off to a decent enough start. Bend your knees more, yes like that, _lower_ , god no don't stick your butt out, you aren't a goddamn _duck_ ,"

And that was pretty much par for the course the rest of the morning.

Artemis was equal parts brilliant and brutal a teacher, with a knack for live demonstrations of the point she was trying to make.

On _him_.

He'd been practicing with his hockey skates for a few days now, but for all that Jason had spent more of his life skating than not, he now felt dangerously unstable on the shorter, lighter blades. 

"You need to keep your center of gravity lower than you do when figure skating. Spine in neutral and squat. Improves your stability," 

And then with no warning she moves in for another check. Except Jason reads her intent in the way her muscles tense milliseconds before she can slam into him, and he realises he has two options. The first being to dodge out of the way, and the second to check her back. He's sort of tired of being knocked around like a strawman, so Jason braced himself and attempted to shove her back. Except, Artemis had about 30 pounds on him, and a point to prove. She sends him skidding off and falling face first into another snowdrift.

She stopped and turned on a dime, showering him with bits of ice. "You read my move, good." She looked distinctly unimpressed. "But despite knowing I had both more momentum and muscle than you, you were stupid enough to try and check me back. Should have just skated past me and dodged."

Jason glared balefully at her and rubbed his sore hip as he pushed to his feet. 

"Don't give me that look," Artemis told him, amused. He's kinda starting to dread her sense of humour. "You had a choice, and you _chose_ not to use your head. Remember, the difference between any pigeon on the ice and a leaguer is that the latter play with their _brain_ first and body second." 

Jason painfully shook out his leg, aware of Artemis checking him over for serious injury with a clinical eye. "You're what, 16 right now and about 5'9 tall ? You've still got some growing to do and you most definitely need to pack on more muscle if you're even to be _considered_ for playing NHL. Until then, your only option is to dodge if you want to remain fracture and concussion free.

"And yet, even when you're done growing, there's still always going to be somebody taller and heavier than you out there, and the only thing you can do then is dodge." She dropped a puck onto the ice between them as they lapped the lake, beginning a slow, steady pass back and forth between them as they glided. "Never forget, no matter your size, a clean game is the best sort of game. You're a skater, not a goddamn goon no matter the reputation men's hockey has," her lip curled. "So don't get into a habit of shoving people around on the ice and then dropping gloves."

She suddenly steals the puck back from him, and Jason lunged for repossession on instinct. He saw her lips twitch up into an approving sort of smile. "We'll be focussing on you learning how to read the game and it's players and how to react correctly."

True to her word, Artemis pushes him until his knees are knocking and he's sweating faster than it can cool on his skin, quizzing him all the while about the technicalities of the game, and the various parts and lines of the rink.

She's not even breathing hard, while he can barely answer without huffing and puffing like the wolf trying to blow down some piggy's house.

"Are you even human," He panted, chugging down nearly his entire bottle of water in one go even though he knew that was bad. But the inevitable overfull, sloshy sensation was worth it with how he felt like steam was practically rising off his overheated skin. Artemis snatches the bottle from him, looking practically airbrushed with only a light sheen of sweat on her brow, while Jason convincingly impersonated a half-drowned possum.

"I don't waste my energy bitching," she grinned at him, and when Jason made grabby hands for his water back, she shot a stream into her own mouth.

"We need to work on your stamina kid," she says matter-of-factly while wiping her chin, and Jason could howl. Not a day had gone by when he'd hadn't been on the ice the past six years of his life. If anyone had stamina, it had to be him. And yet it's still not enough for hockey.

Maybe she reads the despair he desperately tries to hide, because her expression softened from diamond hard to steel hard. "We'll continue this tomorrow, same time."

***

"The thing about pond Hockey is that you don't have or really need much in the way of defence. All we have are snow banks to keep the puck in play, so absolutely no roofing of the puck and no saucering, unless you plan on getting hit by it in some very painful places." Artemis re-did the tape job on her stick while Jason watched carefully as she wound the tape about a distal two-thirds of the way down the blade. She then tossed the roll over to Jason. "You've played with a bare stick long enough. Might as well figure out what tape pattern works for you right now." As he fumbled the tape trying to look like he knew what he was doing, Artemis rolled her eyes and grabbed his stick from him. She scowled as she cleaned off some old tape residue from the guy who'd owned the stick before him, and neatly wrapped the end of the blade with a simple toe-end pattern. Tearing off the end of the tape, she picked up a puck. "Ideally, I'd have finished it with a wax, but I'm running low and not gonna waste the last of my wax on you." She muttered, rubbing the puck firmly across the fresh tape. Jason almost felt a little hurt, but she'd also just taped his stick for him. "In a pinch, vulcanised rubber works just as good as wax to stop your tape from getting waterlogged." She dug around her in her bag, pulling out a roll of bright red grip tape and getting to work on the butt of the twig. Finally satisfied with her pimping of his hockey stick, she handed it back, leaving him no time to admire the cleans lines of the TJ and more secure grip before she was talking again. "We'll be focusing on just passing and stick handling today."

"First to score 10 goals wins, loser does 10 laps around the lake."

"Is checking allowed?" Jason was half hopeful, half wary.

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "Do you think checking your opponent would help your game ?"

Jason surveyed the open ice around them. With no boards _against_ which to check her, it would be utterly pointless and only inviting her to shove him back. And boards or not, he knew one good push from her would send him flying anyway. Instead he'd be much better off trying to steal the puck and playing a quick, clean game. 

"Not in the least," he replied.

Artemis nodded."Next time you think of asking a question, think some more first."

He bit down on his secondary question of would that mean _she_ would not be checking him ? But then he figures that she'd probably do it just to keep him alert and on his toes anyway.

He's not wrong - about 20 minutes into practicing dangling the puck, she comes out of nowhere and Jason loses his stick in his hurry to sidestep her, but at least he remains upright. Artemis's only acknowledgement is the slightest of smirks, and he could swear this is revenge for blackmailing her.

***

Jason starts counting the days they've been working together by the number of bruises he acquires. He's on his 11th bruise (pista green and rather magnificent) when she makes an offhand remark about her aunt. Her aunt, the most famous Greek-American female hockey player of all time.

"Wait. You're Diana Prince's niece? _The_ Diana Prince ? Ice Hockey legend ? Captain of the US Women's Ice Hockey team in the 2004 Olympics ? Head coach for the current US women's team? _That_ Diana Prince ?"

Artemis snorted. "Don't wet yourself kid."

The picture of Diana posing for Sports Illustrated's 2006 winter special cover had got Jason through many a night during those first fiery kicks of puberty. And while Dick Grayson may have made Jason realise he didn't quite swing for just one team, _he'd_ also appeared much later. Diana Prince's piercing blue gaze had made Jason come quiet and choked off into his fist, curled up on his bed under that poster with his parents asleep just a few feet away beyond the paper thin walls of their house. He'd nearly passed out from mortification when Bruce had first introduced Jason to her, Bruce and Diana apparently going way back to when Bruce was still competing. Jason had always privately suspected that something of a bedroom adventure might have happened between those two in the Olympic Village, given that it was before he'd married Talia. 

"Didn't know she had a niece in the NWHL." 

"We don't advertise it." Artemis grunted as she took a wide, swinging shot that sent the puck into the net so fast, Jason could barely track it until it dinged onto the crossbar. He's sure he detected more than a hint of bitterness in her husky voice.

"Why's that ? 

"None of your business." She muttered, lining up the next puck.

Jason watched her once again swing her stick up in a fluid arc before bringing it down lighting fast, slamming into the ice a few inches behind the little rubber disc. The puck hit the top right corner of the net. She barely looked up, pulling the next into position. Left cheese, dead center, then bottom left and bottom right, each shot released with a sound like a miniature thunder clap.

Artemis tapped her stick on the ice and shuffled her skates in irritation. The surface of the lake in Robinson Park hadn't been great when they'd started a week and a half ago, but now deep gouges crisscrossed the ice from where it had been whipped by the wind and damaged by the blades of the thousands of skaters that used it.

"If we practice any longer on this fucking pond, we're going to end up wrenching our ankles." She grimaced. "We'll need to move onto an indoor rink soon, especially with the thaw coming."

And this exactly had been the moment he was dreading. "We could shift to Cobblepot's rink," he suggested, voice soft from how his throat had suddenly dried up.

"Fine, book the rink tomorrow for our usual time then."

Jason swallowed feeling a little sick. "We could still use the lake for a couple more days, right ?"

Artemis squinted at him."Is there a problem ?"

"I'll need to talk to my father. About money for the booking. It might- it might take a couple of days for me to convince him." He replied quietly. Willis was going to give him so much shit for this, that Jason had actively avoided even thinking about how that conversation would go.

Artemis put down her bottle. "Financial issues ?"

Jason rocked back on his heels, unable to meet her eyes. "The reigns are in his hands as to how much I can spend on my sports, although all my training expenses come from my comp winnings. Or, they _used_ to. That source has dried up until I make it anywhere worth being in the hockey leagues."

"Is that why your entire kit save for your skates is 50$ and secondhand and you clutch at your pucks like they're your first born child ?"

"Guilty," he replied dryly.

"Hmm." Artemis looked thoughtful."Don't worry about the booking cost then. I'll cover that."

She drained his bottle and then tossed it back to him, skating away onto the lake like she hadn't just done him a huge damn favour without even being asked to. But this was one gift horse he absolutely had to look in the mouth, ignoring the sinking feeling that bloomed in his gut.

"That's not fair to you, and I can't ask you to do that. You're my _coach_ , not my sponsor, Artemis." He says the moment he catches up to her.

Artemis side eye-eyed him. " _You're_ not asking me to do it, and I'm doing it anyway. I refuse to spend one day longer playing on that ridiculous joke of a lake."

"I'll pay you back," he promises. "Just, give me a few days to get the cash together."

"Don't worry about the money, kid. Just make yourself worth it." She tells him cryptically.

***

"Where do you work out ?" She calls out to him in greeting on the 15th day of training. Artemis displayed an almost allergic reaction to pleasantries. He could swear she'd break out into hives if he wished her an actual, verbal _'Good morning'_ instead of their usual nod acknowledging the other's continued existence.

"Nowhere, currently. I used to work out at the WIA's gym before though."

"Focusing on ?"

"Mainly flexibility and cardio. Though I'm guessing I'll need to start on weight training proper now, bulk up a bit."

"Absolutely not!" She shook her head so vigorously it set her ponytail swinging like a pendulum. "No packing on muscle until you learn _how_ to use that mass first. We need to maximize how many inches of height you can put on while you're still in the midst of a growth spurt. Our focus will be on _stretching_ your muscles and lengthening the bone. Weight training will only hypertrophy the muscle and the contraction will limit the bone growth."

"So, still flexibility and stamina ?" He asked resignedly. What she said made sense, although Jason was starting to worry if he'd even have enough time to put on the muscle he'd require. He'd been both broader at the shoulders and more muscular than Dick had been at the same age, but at the end of the day, his was still a figure skater's build and a far cry from the physique he'd need to develop for hockey. 

As if reading his mind she clicked her tongue impatiently. "Don't worry about putting on muscle. A Mac truck on the ice is not a substitute for a good player." 

_Easy for you to say_ , Jason thinks enviously. With her powerful build and phenomenal skills, she had the best of both worlds. 

"Plus with all the squatting you'll be doing anyway in the course of the game you'll put on the muscle where you'll need it most." She reached out with her stick and tapped his hip and thigh. "You need good forearm strength, but it's those legs of yours that'll give you the real power. Plus, Hockey Ass lowers your center of gravity even more, which is a good thing." Artemis actually _winked_. He's not quite sure if it's just an eyelid spasm.

Jason blinked. "Hockey ass ?" He repeated, not quite sure he'd heard correctly.

"Have fun googling that," she smirked at him and then stole his puck.

Later, Jason does have fun. A _lot_ of fun. His raging bisexuality gives praise to Artemis.

***

However, just because she won't let him do anything other than free weight exercises doesn't mean Artemis cuts the weight training component altogether. True to character, she came up with a cruel and unusual way to do it.

Jason didn't like the way her bag clunked when she dropped it onto the bench next morning, sounding even heavier than usual.

He'd just finished warm up, but his calves burn in sympathetic anticipation of whatever device of torture she's got stowed away in its depths.

He's not expecting the weight cuffs when she takes them out and beckons him over. She eyed him critically up and down as he clipped on his skate guards and made his way toward her.

"We don't have time to do weight training for you separately." she stated bluntly. "These will help with your power for now, and we'll fine-tune precision after you move up to heavier weights."

"I think 3 on each leg and 1.5 on the wrists should be good to start with," she mused, gesturing for him to adjust his shin guards and gloves so she could attach the weight cuffs.

Jason cocked his head as he shucked his gloves. "Three pounds doesn't seem so bad."

Artemis grinned, obviously enjoying herself. "Try three _kilograms_."

Jason experimentally shuffled his feet, getting used to the way he needed to correct his stance to accomodate for the new weight around his legs. Did a couple of bicep curls with the weights around his wrists. Artemis was already tugging his gloves back on over the cuffs and re-adjusting his shin guards. 

It actually wasn't so bad.

"Okay, laps, dekeing and then shot practice," she instructed and Jason skated off.

It actually was _terrible_.

After just 13 laps Jason had probably pespirated his entire water consumption of the previous two days combined, the breath was sawing in his chest and his every limb felt like lead. His toes felt like lead. His toe _nails_ felt like lead.

Artemis wouldn't let him sit down until he'd completed his twenty laps though, and by the end he could barely stand upright, sliding down to lie spreadeagled on the ice itself.

She prodded at him with her stick, no mercy in her eyes. "Win the puck from me, and we'll practice clappers," she bargained and _this_ was new. Artemis never bargained- she simply ordered him to do whatever she wanted done. Jason sat up with renewed strength in his limbs. Everything burned, but the promise of her polishing his slapshots lit a brighter fire in his belly.

He didn't stand a chance though, even after they'd been battling for the puck since a good half hour, what with Artemis's dangles being downright _filthy_. Rather, _Jason_ had been battling, Artemis was simply breezing with the biscuit, the puck moving out of his sticks' reach almost like an extension of her arm. With a jolt, he realises she's got on weight cuffs too, except hers are 5 on the legs and 3 on the arms.

He has to stop and slide bonelessly down the boards, too exhausted to even make it to the bench and chug his water. 

"Is this how everyone in the NWHL trains ?" He gasps.

"Nope, this is how _I_ train". Her grin could scare off a shark.

Artemis tosses him her own bottle of Gatorade and he's too wiped out to even protest, though only taking a few gulps before trying to hand it back. Artemis shakes her head. "Finish it." She tapped her stick on the ice. "And then back on your feet. We got clappers to boom." She leaned forward on her stick, fingers interlocked as she rested her chin on them over the handle and raised a single challenging eyebrow at him. "If you're up to it, that is."

Jason began the painful, stiff-jointed struggle of getting to his feet, dragging himself up by holding onto the boards. 

"Didn't win the scuffle," he grunts.

"And you _won't_ be winning any scuffle for the puck against me anytime soon. Pretty good damn try though," She offered him her hand and he took it, only for her to drop him back onto the ice, knocking the air out of him. 

"Tha' for ?" He wheezes, complete sentences abandoning his verbal skill set.

"If you want this, you're going to have to do it on your own steam alone." She tells him sagely. Artemis wasn't wrong, although Jason was sure this was still her getting even with him for the blackmail. He can't say he doesn't deserve it.

But true to her word, Artemis shoots him a look of approval as he stands up again, patiently coaching him through the micro-movements of a slapshot, the ones that he'd never noticed before when he'd tried to learn it on his own. It takes him a few tries, but once he's got the steps and the balance shifts down correctly, she comes over and undoes the weights on his legs and arms.

The leaden feeling doesn't leave his limbs, but once again he needs to readjust for the different weight distribution.

Artemis nodded towards the goal. "Best out of five, go."

Jason took a deep breath and began his wind up.

On his first attempt, his stick flies clear out of his glove on the backswing and skids to the D's at center ice.

On his second attempt swinging, every movement suddenly feels so much lighter and easier, that he hits the ice and bends his stick on the preload with enough force that the thing springs out of his hands without even making contact with the puck.

On his third attempt, his limbs are finally getting used to the reduced weight again, and he makes his first shot. It claps alright, skimming right over the top of the crossbar to smash straight into Artemis's water bottle that had been sitting over the net, sending it flying into the boards with blue Gatorade leaking out and staining the ice.

He turned to her wide-eyed, apology on the tip of his tongue, but Artemis only nodded consideringly. "Nice bottle rocket."

"I'll buy you another one,” he muttered, about to skate away to retrieve her ruined canteen.

She clamped his shoulder and stopped him. "I'll add it to your tab," Artemis told him dryly. "Finish your shots. The clean up can wait."

His fourth shot, Jason is wound so tight, that even though he hits the puck, it only slides limply along the ice into the bottom of the net with none of the power characteristic to the shot.

Artemis stared fixedly at the goal, not commenting on his abysmal performance. She silently jerked her chin at the final biscuit lined up, urging him to finish.

His fifth shot goes wide, cracking into the boards, and Jason can't help it, he throws his stick onto the ice, fuming and exhausted, and skates off to retrieve her bottle.

When he makes it back, she's standing in the same position, same calculating look on her face. 

"Why do you suppose you didn't make a single decent goal ?" She asks him placidly, and Jason is _so_ not in the mood for this.

"Because I suck at this," he muttered, a sudden rush of exhaustion, insecurity and crushing disappointment making him sway on his feet.

Artemis flicked his forehead. "Try again," she tells him sharply.

"Because I was dead on my feet. And removing the weights messed with my balance."

"Better," she nodded. "So why did I still let you take those shots ? It was rather obvious you were running purely on willpower at this point."

Jason is pretty sure he's still _upright_ purely on willpower right now. His chest won't stop burning from the cold air. "To teach me a lesson I guess?" He laughs bitterly, fatigue making him bratty.

Artemis crossed her arms this time, but her voice remained steady. "And what was that lesson ?"

Jason feels like he could sit down and sob. There's suddenly a lump in his throat. All the worry and frustration and anger and hurt that he's felt towards Bruce, Dick, Willis, Artemis, towards _himself,_ comes welling up alarmingly in that lump and he can only shake his head silently, not trusting himself to be able to speak.

He keeps his eyes down, aware of her keen gaze studying his face because now his eyes are prickling too.

Artemis's voice is not quite gentle when she speaks again, but it lacks her usual directness. "The lesson is to recognise your own limits. You and I both know that your slapshots are passable. Decent, even, on a good day. But there was no way you'd be able to pull off a perfect clapper half dead at the end of the most gruelling practice session I've put you through so far, no matter how badly you wanted it. Instead, if you'd declined and deferred our practice for tomorrow, you'd have benefited a lot more."

Jason can barely comprehend what she's saying. "So you're telling me," he grits out,"that I tried too _hard_ ? And that's why I failed ?"

Artemis's tone is a warning unto itself when she replies, "I'm saying, you worked hard when you should have been working _smart_. You can't beat a dead horse, Todd, and you've got to realise when you're killing yourself."

"That is such a fuckload of bullshit!"Jason erupts, everything that's been bottling up since he left Bruce exploding forth now. "You've been running me ragged since day one and not once have I ever complained or whined or bitched or moaned about _anything_ you've directed me to do. So where the _fuck_ do _you_ get off telling me that I need to work smart, when all I've been doing is listening to _you_ , trusting _you_ blindly ?!"

"Don't forget the reason why this arrangement of ours started in the first place Todd," Artemis hissed. "Despite _that_ bit of pleasantness, I've done nothing but give you the best advice I've had to offer! Nobody owes it to you to get you where you want to be in life, and you'd better remember that. You don't like the way I'm running things, fine, I won't waste my time on some kid who's okay with being mediocre. If you're doing this, do it to be the best. And part of being the best is knowing your limits." 

"Your _best_ advice," Jain scoffed, exhaustion burning away as adrenaline surged through him. "Like telling me I need to do _less_ ? Like being snide and cryptic and downright fucking _frigid_ all the damn time? Like telling me I'd be better off quitting hockey before I could even start ?"

Artemis's face was flushed red with her fury, but as she opened her mouth to respond, Jason cut across her. "You know what I think the truth is? It's not _my_ hockey career that's done before it's even started, it's _yours_ ," he spits, hitting below the belt and out to draw blood.

"Brilliant as you may be, you're fucking finished, _Temporary Suspension_ my ass, and you _know_ that but you just can't handle it so that's why you were still practicing, still hoping that there would be a way to claw your way back, trying to be ready for it when that time came but you know what Artemis ? That's never happening because you're nothing but a _washed up_ , _has-been_ , druggie-"

He's sent sprawling, helmet knocked clean off and ears ringing as he finds himself lying on the ice like a stunned fish. His cheek is stinging from the force of her slap and he tastes blood.

Jason pushed himself to sit up, but his head spins crazily and he slumps back down to the ice. 

"Artemis," he croaks when he can finally hold himself upright without feeling like puking, "Artemis, I'm _sorry_ ," but he's alone on the rink with nothing left of her except for the weight cuffs that lie cooling near the net and her smashed canteen still bleeding blue.

***

Jason tongued the raw patch inside his mouth nervously as he made his way to the rink next morning. They'd booked the time slot for a week, and still had two more days left.

He's got his apology speech down pat, could recite it in his sleep. "...was completely out of line... would totally understand if you didn't ever want to see my stupid face again and I promise, I swear on my life that I'd never go to Vicki Vale with anything I know about you…"

The rink is cold and empty when he pushes open the door, but that's not unusual. Jason's been reaching earlier to begin his warm up from day one. He starts his laps with the weight cuffs strapped on, determined to do whatever he needed to in order to make up with Artemis.

5 am comes and goes. He starts his puck handling drills. 6 am arrives and he tries to stop listening for the door, looking up for its opening in lieu of puck handling down the length and at the corners of the rink.

It's nearing seven when he finishes up his shots, guilt and fear and remorse curdling cold and heavy in his gut.

He can't delay it any longer, waiting for her to show, and he has to rush back for school. The detention Jason gets for being late doesn't even register, because he can hear Bruce's voice ringing in his ears - _You're benched_ , over and over and over again and that same frozen feeling is creeping back into his limbs, fuzzing his mind with the sensation of falling endlessly, of falling into some place so deep and bottomless that he's as good as buried alive. He can hear his every breath, curiously loud as if he were actually on the inside of a coffin.

Someone asks about the bruise high on his cheekbone, and distantly it registers that the foundation he'd stolen from his mother's meagre stash of make-up had probably rubbed off. He simply turns around and walks away without answering.

Out of all the sharp words thrown between them, for some reason his brain keeps skipping back to and getting stuck on _I won't waste my time on some kid who's okay with being mediocre. If you're doing this, do it to be the best_. Because isn't that exactly what Dick used to say to him, only in gentler terms? _You are your biggest competition, Little Wing._

Jason had viciously quashed any memories or reminders of Dick in the last few weeks, but try as he might, the realisation that that he's just lost another mentor refuses to be suppressed.

***

Jason returns to haunt the empty rink the next morning- he already feels dead afterall.

He goes through the motions on autopilot- strap on the weight cuffs, place Artemis's busted bottle on the net as a (poor) substitute for its owner, laps, puck handling, shots.

Artemis doesn't come.

It's the last day of the rink booking she'd done for him on her own dime. He still hadn't worked up the courage to talk to his father about freeing up cash to book Cobblepot's rink.

***

It's Saturday. Robinson park was silent and dark at 4:30 am, the only sounds being the hiss of snow over the lake and the occasional quiet crack of ice as the thaw set in with the coming of spring.

Jason strapped on his weights and tapped the ice twice with his stick. He heard a slight creak -maybe he's imagining it. _He'd just have to stay away from the shore ice then_ , Jason thought numbly.

He sticks to the center of the lake, avoiding the greener patches of ice that make themselves visible as the sun rises. The surface is so deeply gouged, he trips and skids nearly to the thin ice near the shore, crawling on all fours back to the blue ice of the center before he can stand up safely.

His ankle throbbed slightly.

Jason took a deep breath and began his skate again.

The shiny red goal further out on the lake is silent.

He can't bear to come even within a hundred feet of it, the complete silence over the lake devoid of the pinging of rubber off metal deafening him.

***

A handful of days later, Jason stood at the frozen, crunchy banks of the lake, in full gear except for his skates which dangled from his fingers, watching as if from outside his body as a series of cracks spiderwebbed the dark green ice at the shore, now nearly black in places.

He can't feel much except for a hollow sort of dull horror, more numb than anything as Jason watched his last option on which to skate melting like the wicked witch of the west.

He's not sure how long he stands there for, but his feet have gone from numb to prickling with pins and needles and are now slowly approaching warm. _That's not a good sign_ , a part of him thinks with a distant, detached sort of franticness.

"Hey ! Get away from the edge!" someone bellows, voice faint over the wind. Jason keeps watching, almost hypnotized by the fine cracks in the shore ice.

"I _said_ , get away from that damn edge," the person growls, tightly grabbing his shoulder and yanking him back. Jason stumbles on his numb feet, skates swinging, only to be righted by a strong pair of arms.

He blinks up at Artemis's scowling face.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed, Todd ?" She demands.

The image and voice and scent of her is not computing. Artemis Grace, in the flesh, was bundled up in fluffy earmuffs, a scratchy looking brown scarf, a red hoodie and black jeans. Her feet were warm in knee high boots and she smelled like clean laundry and shampoo instead of the usual faint musk of hockey pads and canvas.

"Where's your hockey gear ?" He blurts out, because clearly, when they were handing out brains upstairs Jason had skipped that queue and spent the time dismantling his Brain to Mouth Filter instead. 

Impressively, Artemis managed to scowl even deeper. "Didn't come here to play hockey." She muttered, looking away from him.

Jason swallowed, the still sane part of him squeaking _deploy speech, speech, apology speech !_

He opens his mouth to start that, except Artemis was unzipping her hoodie. And then she was handing it over to him. "You're freezing, kid," she muttered, looking down at his socked feet appalled. Ah. That would explain the possible beginnings of frostbite.

He shivered violently as the first wave of heat hit him as he tugged on the red hoodie. 

"Don't tell me you were going to actually try to skate on _that_ ?" She sounded like he'd announced his plans to kick every puppy in a 100 mile radius.

"To call it _planning_ might be a stretch," Jason mumbled through chattering teeth.

"What are you even doing here ?" She asked quietly. "Why aren't you practicing at Cobblepot's rink ?"

They had reached the bench where they used to usually drop their kits, heading there on instinct and their legs' muscle memory. He stripped off his soggy socks and began trying to rub feeling back into his feet, soles prickling uncomfortably. "I never got around to asking my dad about paying for ice time. When the booking you'd done got over, I came back out here. Been using the lake for a week or so. When I checked the ice though today it was cracking."

Artemis was studiously avoiding looking at him directly. She nodded at his recounting of events, not saying anything. Jason couldn't help notice how without her pads and stick, sitting besides him on the cold bench in a turtleneck sweater and those earmuffs, how completely normal Artemis looked rather than the imposing figure she usually cut. In fact, she looked exhausted.

Jason dug into his bag and pulled out the wad of cash he'd taken to carrying in the hope that he'd see her again somehow. "This is what I owed you for the rink booking," he told her, trying to push it into her hands.

Now, it seemed like _she_ wasn't computing. 

"I'm not taking this." She pushed the envelope away. "I told you before, that was as much for my training as it was for yours. And please don't tell me you stole this," she narrowed her eyes at him.

Jason rolled his eyes. "I picked up a shift at Gotham Public library after school. Barbara's known me for years now, so she agreed to give me my advance for the month even though I'm new." 

Barbara and Dick had been on-and-off throughout the time he'd been with Bruce. They'd been off last that he'd known, but Babs had always had a soft corner for Jason, and the feeling was mutual. She'd known about his financial situation for a while now, so the day he came to her for a job at the library after he left Bruce, she'd given him the best shift she could pronto. It worked well for him, Jason completing his homework and studying in between reshelving and guiding folks to the titles they wanted. 

Except the pay really wasn't all that great, and Barbara had outright broken rules rather than merely bent them to give him the advance since he was still just in his first month of employment.

He'd been hoping to save up enough to practice at Cobblepot's rink once the lake was no longer an option, but the ice time was more expensive than he'd first estimated. His wages weren't enough to buy him a regular rink slot without also talking to Willis.

But it was enough to repay Artemis. 

Artemis, who was still attempting to shove the money back at him.

"Just keep it, Artemis and don't flap it around. Some hobo will probably try to jump us for it," he told her, rummaging in his kit for her canteen. "Sorry I couldn't get you a new one," he mumbled. He'd just about managed to get the dent straightened out in shop class at school, and had touched up the paint job since it had gotten a bit scratched as well. The paint didn't exactly match, but it passed muster If not examined too closely. He pushed that into her hands too, and set about unstrapping the cuffs from his hands and legs. Over the week, Jason had been surprised to find how quickly he'd gotten used to the added weights. It still left his limbs feeling slow and heavy, but after longer and longer periods of exertion. He'd have to buy some of his own, he thought grimly. Or more likely figure how to make some himself.

"Thanks for these," he told her, dropping them onto the bench between them.

Artemis was looking at him funny, a curious expression in her face. If he didn't know better, he'd almost say it was sentimentality.

She cleared her throat. "You can keep those. I've new ones of my own anyway." She nudged them closer to him when he made no move to take them back.

Jason swallowed, hearing his throat click with how dry it suddenly was. "I'm sorry for all the crap I spewed at you that day." He got out quickly, unable to meet her eyes. "All that venom had been building ever since I quit figures and you happened to be a convenient focal point for it. I'd totally understand if you'd never want to seem my stupid face again, and Artemis," he looked up at her now, "I'm honoured that I got a chance to learn under someone like you, however briefly that was. You went above and beyond what I'd expected when I first blackmailed you into coaching me, and I can't begin to list how much I've learnt from you." Jason took a deep breath, willing her to understand just how serious he was. "I swear on my life that I'd never go to Vicki Vale with anything that I've learnt about you, and I hope you know that even before, when I first threatened to do so, I'd never have actually gone through with it. Though this doesn't excuse me from the fact that I used it against you anyway, I would hope you won't worry about something like that ever happening because of me."

Artemis looked at him levelly. "You rehearsed that didn't you."

"I still meant every word."

"And here I thought I at least warranted spontaneous originality." He can tell from her tone that she's joking, or at least trying to, but all Jason can manage is a wan smile. He has nothing more to say for himself.

They sit in silence for a while, the sun creeping its way above the horizon slowly warming them.

"What do you know about emancipation ?" She asks him abruptly.

Jason blinked. "How much _should_ I know ?" He enquired in return.

Artemis rubbed her jaw contemplatively, still looking off somewhere into the middle distance.

"Looks like we'll have to bring in Kate Spencer earlier than expected." She said thoughtfully, making complete sense as usual.

"Who's Kate Spencer?"

"You'll see," Artemis smirked, not cryptically at all.

"Wait," Jason was processing what he'd just heard. "So does this mean you'll be training me again?"

"What can I say," she said wryly, "your heartfelt rehearsed monologue of unoriginality melted the cockles of my cold heart."

Jason could barely understand what he was hearing.

Artemis was already getting to her feet, dusting off a few flecks of snow that had settled on her pants. "Be here at the lake tomorrow, same time as usual."

Once again though, this was a gift horse he needed to all but do a full dental examination for.

"Wait, so you're just going to let me off the hook, no consequences for all that crap I gave you?"

There's a twinkle in her eye when she turns around. "Who said anything about no _consequences_ ? If you thought I pushed you hard _before,_ wait until you see what I have in store for you _now_."

"You're letting me off too easy," he tells her helplessly. Good fortune of this magnitude did not just _happen_ upon Jason. And also, "Seriously who is Kate Spencer and why would I need her services?" Because Jason just could not leave well alone.

"Never do things the easy way do you, huh ?" She said quizzically.

"Fine, I'll explain. You can't be the best if you're fighting with one hand tied behind your back. Right now the way I see it, your father and his controlling of the money for your hockey practice is the rope that's pinning your hand there." Her own hand twitched out, as if reaching for an invisible hockey stick that she could tap against the ice. 

"What you need is legal emancipation. Freedom over your own finances and your decisions with what to do with your earnings from figure skating competitions, especially since they're _your_ earnings."

Artemis's fingers flexed over thin air.

"Kate 'Manhunter' Spencer has a bit of a reputation. She's the one arguing my case with the NWHL right now, but I'm sure I could convince her to take on your case too Pro Bono."

Curiosity gets the better of Jason. "How exactly did you find this _Manhunter_ ?" he asked.

Fidgety in her own way, Artemis gave up and just reached over to take Jason's hockey stick as if comforted by the familiar weight in her hand.

"I may be the black sheep of the family," she said, looking an odd mix of vicious and pensive, "but my aunt isn't quite as straight laced as the sports journals like to paint her either."

Jason wisely kept his mouth shut, not particularly keen on either further pissing off the Amazon with a big stick or bad mouthing the woman responsible for a decent number of his pubescent orgasms. It's the least he can do for Diana Prince.

"Point is," Artemis twirled the twig, "she's needed legal counsel in the past. And Kate Spencer is who you call if you need to get off murder charges, or potentially career ending doping charges. If you're serious about the NHL, you need a good agent and an even better lawyer. While I can get you in touch with the attorney Wonder Woman herself had used, and trust me when I say she'll make sure you get a good deal, it might be a while before we can set you up with an agent. Although I _do_ have someone in mind."

Jason would have sat down if he wasn't already on a bench. "At the cost of sounding redundant, you _do_ know that you don't owe me anything, right ? And if you wanted to stop our practice sessions, there'd be no hard feelings." This was it, thought Jason. He'd given her the out and she was going to take it and then he'd be back at square minus-one.

Artemis fixed him with a piercing look, and Jason helplessly continued babbling. "Because why the fuck would you go out of your way to help me, some strange kid who'd fake blackmailed you ?" Jason was dead sure that he was no longer wholly in control of the situation, and he couldn't figure at which point had that happened. He couldn't help his brain continuously cycling back to the fact that he should _not_ be getting off this easy.

She studied his hockey stick, checking the flex while she thought out her answer. Her face was still hidden by her hair as she looked down. "Maybe cause you remind me a bit of me, kid. I've read the articles, seen the stories on Gotham's resident Boy Wonder on Ice. You're a bigger deal that you think you are, and you'd be surprised at how many are waiting and watching for your next move. I don't know what happened between you and Wayne to make you quit figures altogether while on an upswing, and I honestly don't care to pry. But I _am_ intimately acquainted with what it's like to be let down by someone who you trust to have your back." She pinned him with her gaze, like a bug under a microscope. "And I know what it feels like to desperately want and _need_ a second chance to prove yourself."

It's possibly the longest he's ever heard her speak at a stretch.

"So are you going to take this chance, or will you continue to let others tell you what you can or can't do ?" She raised her eyebrows at him, straightening up to her full six feet and Jason can definitely see the family resemblance to Diana now. She tossed his stick back to him before offering her hand up for a shake. Artemis's grip was firm. 

_It had better be,_ Jason thinks. After all, these were the hands he was placing his future in.

***

Jason is already halfway down the trail leading to the lake next morning when it occurs to him that they can't actually _skate_ on it anymore.

Artemis isn't around when he gets to the lake, and Jason sets his stuff down before wondering if he's gotten punk'd (not that he doesn't deserve it) and should even bother with strapping on his pads.

Something hard and cold explodes into the back of his neck then, and he gasped as the ice trickled under his shirt, spinning around wildly for the source of the attack.

Another snowball nailed him in the side of the face, and Jason lunged for his bag to get to his helmet with its visor as fast as possible.

Even as he tugged it on and fixed the buckle, another shower of Ice powdered the inside of his bag from where Artemis's snowball clipped his arm and broke apart.

She probably had a whole pile ready before he came, Jason thinks, heart pounding in relief that _she's here,_ she's not left him 6 feet under the pile of his uncertainty.

The angle of the projectiles suggest she's behind the clump of scrub that grew just west of their bench, and he began launching snowballs of his own in hopefully what was the general direction where she was hiding.

Another bunch of ice hits him square in the face, but the visor takes the brunt of it.

"The hell is this ?!" He called out into the stillness of the early morning as he ducked behind the bench for cover.

He didn't expect Artemis to actually call back and give away her position, but instead she bellows back, "Shot practice!" and promptly nails him in the head with another snowball.

Jason had no idea how she could even aim so well in the dark, and mentally added another tally mark in the column of Artemis not being completely human.

He's only just about started launching snowballs at full speed in the general direction of Artemis' voice when half a snowman is dumped on him.

"Should have gone on the offence when you had the chance," a deep voice chuckled from behind him, but Jason was too busy dusting snow off his face before someone bodily tackled him into a snowdrift.

Half blinded by the snow in his face and the dark around him Jason could hear Artemis laughing breathlessly in the snow beside him, her throaty chuckle interwoven with the deeper tones of a man.

Dusting powder off herself, Artemis pulled Jason to his feet. He'd never seen her smiling this hugely before, face practically split in half.

"Jason, I'd like you to meet my very good friend, whom I'm sure will soon be yours too, Biz."

Biz helped Jason knock loose the snow that clung to him before it could melt and chill his clothes with hands the size of catcher's mitts.

The guy towered over Jason, making even Artemis look petite in comparison. But despite his blocky features, Jason thought he had one of the kindest faces he'd ever seen.

With a twinkle in his eye, Biz nodded to Artemis. "See what she did there ? A well timed offense is just as important as a good defense."

"Right," says Jason, snow melting under his shirt and running down in cold, tickly rivulets. "Which could be more effectively explained on the ice," he gestured to the lake, "which is unskatable."

"We hadn't noticed." Artemis interjected dryly. She isn't wearing any hockey gear either, just her scarf and the bright red hoodie from the previous day.

"If we aren't skating today, then what _are_ we doing ?" 

Artemis and Biz shared a loaded look. "I've been pushing you pretty hard, kid. Maybe it's time for a day off. Before I _really_ put you through the grinder, that is."

"I don't have _time_ for a day off. I still have so much I need to learn." The clock had always been against him.

Artemis rolled her eyes. "All work and no play makes Jason a dull boy."

Biz scratched at his chin. "That statement does induce some amount of a paradox, because technically he is still _playing_ ice-hockey." He shot Jason a reassuring smile. "But we never said anything about not _learning_ something."

Artemis nodded. "I've been focusing only on teaching you how to play, but not _why_ to make a certain play. Skill can be honed with time, but it's learning to read the game that'll keep you in the league long enough to perfect those skills."

She clapped a hand to Biz's shoulder. "That's where this guy comes in." She grinned up at the giant of a man. "He's the best analyst you could have in your corner, and a lot more patient than me when it comes to explaining strategy and gameplay. From now on," Artemis poked Jason in the chest, "you'll be spending time with Biz going over matches and learning how to read the game."

"Seeing patterns of gameplay seconds before they unfold on the ice is second nature to so many players who start out young. We need to bring you up to that level as soon as possible."

"Then let's get down to Biz-ness," Jason grinned, and slapped the guy a freezing high-five. "Reprehensible," Artemis announced, and suddenly he was gasping and blinking snow out of his eyes again from her sneak snowball.

"Remind me again, how is playing in the snow supposed to help with that ?" He's still picking the ice out of his eyebrows.

"It's more for _our_ benefit really, if it'll get you to shut up for once."

Despite what Artemis had said about it being a day off, they cleverly turn it into practice dodging against D-men, with Jason having to face off against both Artemis and Biz running full tilt at him to try and tackle Jason into the snow. With the thaw of spring coming, there's not much snow on the ground for him to fall into, and he quickly learns to predict when to sidestep since the cost of not seeing an opening is full-body soreness and the promise of an extremely stiff next morning. Jason doesn't remember the last time since before Dick's fall that he'd laughed so much.

They establish a pattern - training with Artemis at Cobblepot's rink in the mornings, and meeting up with Biz on his free evenings to go over endless replays of taped games.

"Wait," Jason tapped the screen. "Could you slow down and replay that part ?" 

Biz gave him a funny sort of look. "I thought you're aiming to play winger." Onscreen, Clark Kent, a mountain of man, captain of the Metropolis Jets and probably the best player to cut ice in the history of the NHL, was winding up for one of his legendary clappers. The boom from his shots had been known to silence stadiums. Kent also happened to be the most famous _defenseman_ in the history of the NHL.

Jason smiled. "We're working on my slapshots right now and Artemis thought it would be a good idea to pick it up from the guy who had the hardest shot ever."

More specifically, Artemis had shrugged. "I may find _Superman_ an insufferable goody two shoes, but if there's one player who's perfected that shot, it's Clark Kent. You want to learn it right, then study every single thing about him when he takes it. The shift of his body, where he brings the stick down on the ice, his follow through."

 _And then practice all of it_ , Jason thinks. Not only until he gets it right, but until he can't get it wrong.

As promised, Artemis pushes him even harder than before, but he's rewarded with her no-longer-so-rare smiles too. It makes for a great carrot to the stick of her no-nonsense drill sergeant approach to training. Because now that he isn't blackmailing her anymore, Jason can freely admit to himself that he's possibly a little bit in love with her. It's the good kind though, the sort that makes him want to do better, push himself more than ever but not worry about looking stupid in front of Artemis because honestly, she's seen him at his worst and she's still here.

" _C'mon_ kid," she clapped her hands impatiently. "I didn't sponsor your icetime only for you to clomp over to the gate slower than my nana. Just get onto the ice already." 

"Hold on, I get to jump over the boards ?" Jason confirmed gleefully. Artemis shot him a look from where she was skating tight circles around the central D's. "You _have_ to jump the boards. Every second on ice counts. You don't exactly have time to stroll over to the door." 

Jason shook his head cheerfully, his stick already on the other side of the boards as he hoisted himself up. "Doing this was a hard _No_ in figures. The once I tried it, Bruce chewed me out good. _Vault the boards, dock the scores_ ," he imitated Bruce's cautionary rumble.

The now familiar double click of Artemis tapping her stick on the ice was all the warning he got before she hit the puck towards him. "Well, we aren't in Kansas anymore,Toto. Now show me the tightest back crosses you've ever done."

And Jason is happy. It's a tiny, fierce thing, alive and vital in its own way. The action and activity of backbreaking practice keeps the small, but unbanked fire of his almost panicked urgency to catch up to the mean skill level for his age alive.

And if he happens to find friends like Artemis and Biz along the way, then this is one gift horse Jason is leading straight into his stable, without a second glance at its mouth for once.


End file.
